


Our ballad, not yet sung

by kwunkwun



Series: Recovery Road [1]
Category: EXILE (JPOP), J Soul Brothers (Band), Sandaime J Soul Brothers
Genre: I am officially trash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwunkwun/pseuds/kwunkwun
Summary: You can tell when someone’s smile doesn’t reach their eyes.





	

You can tell when someone’s smile doesn’t reach their eyes. And Ryuji’s smile was beautiful –the kind that you could look at after a hard day and think _hey, maybe things aren’t so bad._ The kind that can make you fall in love with him over and over again, like the best kind of déjà vu.

 

Hiroomi looked over the gleaming rim of his glass, across the packed round table, at his vocal partner. Ryuji looked gorgeous in a sleek black suit, his features accented by thin, gold-rimmed spectacles. They added a handsome severity to his expression –but Ryuji always looked rather severe when he was concentrating, or worrying.

 

And Hiroomi knew that Ryuji was worrying right now, about their performance that was due in two minutes. When the time comes, there was a perceptible tension to Ryuji’s shoulders as he rose from his chair. Hiroomi had no eyes or ears for the camera or the applause as he fell into step close behind him, swinging his arms a little too much so that their hands would brush together. It was funny, how Ryuji was usually the one to initiate these little touches of encouragement, albeit with an almost childish unawareness of the public eye. Ryuji didn’t notice their minor collision, or maybe he did, but had chosen to ignore it. Either way, it hurt.

 

On stage, Hiroomi sung, he moved, he fed the audience what they expected, but throughout it all, his heart wasn’t really in it. He tensed whenever he anticipated Ryuji’s parts, mentally rehearsing his vocal partner’s every note and lyric instead of concentrating on his own. It doesn’t take an expert to tell that Ryuji’s voice was still weak and unstable. But it does take someone who knows him, in a private and possessive sense of the word, to tell that he kept his gaze off the audience as if he was ashamed that he had to compromise.

 

It killed him to see Ryuji like this.

 

The performance went on, and Hiroomi felt increasingly suffocated by the strobe lights and the thrum of the music, and his suit felt like a cage with every choreographed step and gesture. Most of all, he felt suffocated by the fact that Ryuji never once looked at him, even when ( _or is it especially when?_ ) he smiled one of those smiles that didn’t reach his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

It came as no surprise to find Ryuji’s apartment mostly devoid of personality, because they had so little private time to spare these days, let alone spend time at home. Hiroomi barely waited for the lock to sound before he pressed Ryuji into the door, hands fumbling up the lapels of his jacket to cradle the sides of his head. He found his lips and kissed them greedily, always irrationally jealous of how readily expressive Ryuji’s mouth was no matter who he was interacting with. But his desperation took on another kind of gravity because right now it was about how Ryuji wasn’t telling him or even showing him all of his fears and insecurities like he used to. He was the one who had stepped back to give Ryuji space when his condition had worsened, but now he couldn’t stand it, how he seemed to confide in Kenjiro more than him. Irrationally jealous. Ryuji’s lukewarm countenance brought out the worst in him but he didn’t care –right now, Ryuji was totally and completely his.

 

“Omi. Omi, wait a minute –

Ryuji, panting under his brutally passionate kisses, shuddering as he grappled for purchase on the back of his partner’s cropped hair so he could crush their mouths ever close together, as if he could touch his soul in this way. Looking down at Ryuji he could see his impossibly dark eyes already glazed with desire, and Hiroomi pressed closer to sandwich him between his body and the door. His palm came to rest upon his blushing face, and there it stayed, fingers tracing the moles that arched across his cheekbone like a constellation.

 

“Ryuji, I miss you,” he confessed, voice hoarse with emotion, before he found his lips again, gently this time. Ryuji emitted a shy moan into the kiss, and Hiroomi felt a cobalt-bright fire spreading through his chest, down his spine, rumbling at the pit of his stomach. He slipped a hand under Ryuji’s open coat, pushing at it impatiently until it fell to the ground.

 

“Miss –I’m –but I’m right here.” Ryuji’s tone was devoid of dishonesty but it was by no means innocent: he wanted to fuck and make love and fuck and make love until they were melded together in a breathless mess like soulmates who had nothing left but each other.

“But, I miss you too –it doesn’t make sense. This is bad, isn’t it?” Having admitted this in a desire-roughened whisper, Ryuji laughed, helplessly and deliciously. His laughter gets him every time, and he all but dragged Ryuji towards the sofa, hands touching him everywhere along the way. His shirt was dishevelled and open by the time Hiroomi climbed over him.

 

“You’re being really aggressive, Omi.” The noise Ryuji made was caught between a chuckle and a whimper once Hiroomi’s mouth latched onto his neck, right over the old scar that marred the underside of his left jaw.

 

“Because I miss you.” Hiroomi felt like he was parroting himself, and Ryuji was supposed to be the needy one. He brushed his knuckles over one smooth collarbone, and then rested his palm upon his chest, caressing gently, the side of his pinkie grazing the softness of his nipple. The touch had Ryuji trembling and gasping against his mouth.

 

“If you have an issue just say so.” Ryuji’s mind was evidently clear enough for him to call him out on his habit of keeping his anxieties to himself. Hiroomi eased off then, just counting Ryuji’s heartbeat under his palm while he took hold of the hand that wasn’t on his ass (Ryuji was surprisingly sneaky for him to not have noticed). Slowly he interlaced their fingers, and the intimacy of the gesture made both of them turn pink.

 

“Your voice. How is it doing?”

 

Ryuji’s face darkened immediately, and it was a look that didn’t suit him at all.

 

“I’m sure you heard how it was during the performance.”

 

“It was a little better this time than last. You compromised projection for stability, didn’t you?” Neither of them needed to be coddled when it came to their voices, so Hiroomi didn’t mince his words.

 

“The high notes were hard to sustain. I thought my lungs would give out.” Ryuji was hesitant but honest. “I’m sorry. I’m letting you down.”

 

Hiroomi felt anger flare in his chest but he quashed it, squeezing Ryuji’s hand comfortingly. “You’re not allowed to say that. We’re partners.”

 

Ryuji laughed quietly at how Hiroomi flushed from his own words. “Partners and rivals.”

 

“One in heart and body.”

 

“Omi, that’s so cheesy.”

 

“You were the one who said that in an interview!”

 

“You said I was gross for being clingy in the same interview.”

 

Ryuji was visibly pouting and fuck it was unfair, how adorable and sexy he was. But before he could apologize, Ryuji was already pulling him in by the back of his nape, so that their mouths could meet in a slow and melting kiss. Hiroomi’s heart was swollen and heavy with the thought that he could love someone so intensely. Lately, it had been like being suspended by a spider’s silk and putting all his faith in the strength of that one single thread. Or maybe he lacked faith, because he kept looking toward Ryuji for some form of reaffirmation that things hadn’t changed between them.

 

“Stop thinking so much.” Ryuji’s lips were on his temple as he spoke those words so tenderly. Dumbly, Hiroomi nodded, his hands pushing Ryuji’s shirt from his shoulders, fingers tracing the dips and curves of muscle and bone. The way that Ryuji whimpered when his palms brushed over his taut nipples roused his desire once again, prompting Hiroomi to roll his hips down into him until his whimpers turn into weak moans.

 

Ryuji’s eyes were hot pools of black, glazed in his arousal. When he eased his weight onto him, it sparked something else in those eyes, something fiery and powerful and gorgeous. He wanted to see it a thousand times until it consumed him.

 

“You _are_ going to get better, Ryuji.” His words were a fierce whisper, sanctified by a possessive and loving kiss to his cheekbone and then his mouth.

 

Ryuji didn’t answer, but his arms wrapped around him so tightly that Hiroomi wanted to cry.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I exist


End file.
